


Iced Tea, Morgue Coffee

by hardkourparcore



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, M/M, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and as before hubert is dead in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardkourparcore/pseuds/hardkourparcore
Summary: Ferdinand von Aegir has a wonderful, unique, and terrifying gift that allows him to raise the dead.  Before now, he'd never considered any potential practical application for it.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i had this idea for awhile and i'm super excited to bring it at last! also for a while, i've wanted to write in the kind of style and vibes of pushing daisies, so here is my attempt at that! more tags will be added as we go. i don't reply to every comment, but i love each one i receive! fangz to my gf raven for proofreading my fic (lmao)

Ferdinand von Aegir’s favorite horse was named Goldilocks. There were two reasons for this. The first was that she had a long mane of blond-ish hair. The second was that his father was not a very creative man. His father had named Ferdinand’s horse because she had originally been his horse. Ferdinand was given her as a gift for his birthday when he was small, and she remained his favorite mostly because this gesture of compassion was one of the few times he’d seen his father been so outwardly caring in his twenty-four years, seven weeks, two days, five hours, and forty-eight minutes of existence. So he cherished the memory, and he cherished Goldilocks.

The small problem for Ferdinand’s fond feelings towards Goldilocks was that since he’d been gifted her sixteen years, seven weeks, two days, two hours and three minutes ago, she’d aged far past the time an average horse has to spend on this planet. That was because, precisely three weeks, one day, twenty hours and sixteen minutes after Ferdinand graduated from high school, Goldilocks died.

On what could only be described as a usual ride across his family’s estate, Goldilocks’ digestive system twisted into an unusual shape, resulting in a pain she had no way to communicate save for suddenly falling forward. Though Ferdinand asked, she was unable to even refuse to get back up. In one single burst of pain, the geriatric horse named Goldilocks had suddenly and swiftly died.

Ferdinand, a man who could not help but act immediately on his heart’s first impulse, utilized the one thing he knew he could do for Goldilocks in such a situation, and promptly brought her back to life.

First touch, life. Second touch, dead again forever.

A similar situation when Ferdinand was ten years, thirty-two weeks, five days, one hour, and twenty-five minutes old brought this extraordinary gift to his attention. The family dog died. Poking it to see if it was alive made it alive. Exactly one minute later, the family cat died, and when that dog attempted to wipe away Ferdinand’s emotionally charged tears with its tongue, it died, again, permanently.

This gift did not come with instructions, or warnings, or even a return policy. Ferdinand had to learn how it worked on his own. Through rabbits and gerbils and rats, if Ferdinand had a pet, it usually died twice. He learned the simple rules, and he learned that one life could not remain without taking another. If he revived a rabbit, his sister’s guinea pig died exactly a minute later. A gerbil’s life took his brother’s rat.

And for Goldilocks, a nearby moose died suddenly as it was crossing the road some thirty yards away. The traffic that had been waiting patiently for its crossing suddenly became backed up as a dozen people without the skills or ability to move a fifteen hundred pound animal nicely became momentarily stranded. Six cars down from the incident, Ferdinand’s biological mother suffered a stroke. While Ferdinand’s eldest sister had recognized the signs early enough to rush her to the hospital, the momentary hold up of relocating the megafauna roadblock resulted in her untimely death.

Since that day, Ferdinand von Aegir resolved not to trifle with a messy thing called death, and as a result commonly kept his touches to himself. In the time henceforth referred to as “now”, Ferdinand kept Goldilocks in the stables, paid someone else to ride and exercise her, and was only able to scratch behind her ears using the employ of a wooden back scratcher. Sugar cubes were placed in a bowl duct taped to a 2x4 in order to preserve and reward the horse simultaneously.

A back scratcher and bowl modified to serve the same purpose was about as close as Ferdinand was now willing to come close to a living creature, regardless of whether it had died before or not.

Now (meaning just after Goldilocks had been sufficiently cooed at from a safe life-sustaining distance), Ferdinand received a phone call.

Edelgard von Hresvelg was destined to, at some point in their shared futures, become Ferdinand’s business partner or colleague. Ferdinand liked to consider her a sort of friendly rival, even if she preferred to roll her eyes whenever he reminded her of it.

When he answered the phone, he greeted her with a warm, “Good afternoon, Edelgard!” and continued with:

“Do you concede I have finally bested you in our battle in Words With Friends?”

Edelgard, on the other side, sighed as she usually did. “No, Ferdinand. I thought I told you I deleted that from my phone.”

“So you surrender!” He beamed. “As I suspected, you could not handle the --”

She cut him off before he could boast about how many points the ironically chosen ‘VEXING’ had been worth. “Ferdinand, stop. This is a serious phone call. I have serious news.”

Though his grin shrunk, he still maintained a smile before she elaborated. “Go ahead, then.”

Edelgard began with a sigh. Ferdinand could nearly see her pinch the bridge of her nose, as she did when she was frustrated, or when she was upset. 

“Hubert…” Her voice was thin. She sighed again, and Ferdinand could hear the wave to her breath. “Hubert passed. Recently. He wanted to be cremated, but before then I thought it would be nice to hold a viewing of him before then.”

She gave him the time and date. She told him to wear something nice.

“I know you and Hubert didn’t see eye to eye much… or ever, but I’m sure it would mean something to him if you decided to say goodbye.”

It went without saying that they both knew she was wrong, so Ferdinand didn’t refute it. What she really meant by saying this was that losing her closest friend and confidant was wearing on her, and this would mean something  _ to her _ . At the very least, Ferdinand felt certain Hubert wouldn’t mind providing such closure to her in the slightest.

“I understand,” Ferdinand replied. His voice had become similarly thin. While he could never imagine  _ missing _ the infuriating Hubert von Vestra, it was already evident that his death would haunt Edelgard for some time.

“And Edelgard,” he continued. “If you need anything, you have my number.”

Edelgard let out a single laugh. It was utterly humorless. She wasn’t planning on calling him any time soon, nor would she ever need anything. Even if Ferdinand didn’t think of this, the knowledge was held somewhere deep in his abdomen.

“Of course. I’ll… See you then, Ferdinand.”

“Take care.” Ferdinand said that each moment before he hung up the phone. He meant it genuinely, passionately, every single instance, and he meant it even more genuinely and passionately this time.

Edelgard hung up the phone first, leaving Ferdinand to wrestle with her serious news and how he felt about it with no one to listen but an alive-again horse named Goldilocks.


	2. Rotten Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubert was hardly a practical application of Ferdinand's powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so much longer than i expected... when i started this fic, i didn't have a clue where it would go in the end, and now i do, so i hope i can get the chapters out more quickly in the future.
> 
> if you comment, feel free to include the name of a 3h character you would like to be killed/alived/killed :) that's still up in the air.
> 
> thank you to every one who left comments before and supported this fic... i appreciate it all.

The funeral home in which Hubert’s corpse was to be viewed had been completely decorated for the occasion. He might have even said it was “apt”, through clenched teeth and an upturned upper lip. Any flowers purchased for the event were black blooms, sitting in dark-colored vases, if not completely clear. Inside, dark, heavy curtains had been hung to obscure the walls underneath, which peeked through in slivers of pastel flower patterns that were out of modern style thirty years ago.

The crowd that had gathered was not large by any means. The usual faces all appeared in their own unique ways. The only people Ferdinand couldn’t recognize was the stone-faced funeral director who stood so still he almost thought the woman was a macabre wax statue (that for whatever reason Hubert requested upon death to solemnly watch over his corpse -- that seemed like the sort of horrible nonsense Hubert would try, to Ferdinand), and the graying old man handing out pamphlets for a religion Ferdinand had never before seen.

Edelgard was hovering between the entrance to the main room and the casket. She was not the sort of woman who was inclined to pacing, but nevertheless she seemed wired with nervous energy. A vase of black flowers was not perfect enough to avoid her rearranging them slightly at least twice. The carpet was not straight enough to go without her toeing it into a different position. When she looked up from it and met Ferdinand’s gaze, she reacted in a way he’d never seen her respond to his presence before: positively.

“Ferdinand!” she exhaled, crossing the distance between them. “I didn’t think you would come.”

Ferdinand tempered his voice, allowing its edges to soften in a way he could only hope was comforting. “Of course, Edelgard. I cannot lie, I did not come to pay my respects for Hubert, but I hoped to support you in this dark time.”

“Thank you. Your little rivalry is exactly why I didn’t know if you would come, but I’m glad you did. You see…” Edelgard’s eyes darted to the left, and then the right. She turned at the waist to peer over each shoulder. No one was around except the statuesque mortician.

With more levity than Ferdinand anticipated, or than was wholly necessary, Edelgard continued, “Hubert was murdered.”

She paused, allowing Ferdinand to grapple with that statement. It wasn’t necessary. Ferdinand knew that murder was the only vehicle with which Hubert would leave this world -- he was wholly unsurprised. In fact, he was already piecing something together.

“Are you… requesting aid in investigating the manner?”

“Yes! I’m unsure who else to turn to… Please. Go take a look at him while you’re able. He wanted to be cremated, so I can’t waste more time disrespecting his wishes. I'll try and get the others out of the room so you can do it in peace."

While Ferdinand was left entirely unsure of Edelgard's motivations, or even what she meant in full, he nodded as though he understood completely. Determined, he replied, "I will do my utmost, Edelgard."

She smiled, though it didn't touch her eyes. "Thank you. I'll give you the chance to speak with the others, if you think you should."

Even in the face of her closest confidant, Edelgard remained all business. Their conversation coming to a clear end, she straightened her skirt and brushed invisible dust off her jacket, then held a hand in the direction of the next room, ushering Ferdinand inside.

That was where Hubert's casket sat, open, atop a short table obscured with more ebony blooms and dark curtains. Their friends and colleagues were scattered about the room in familiar formations. Constance, for instance, was berating a Linhardt barely conscious -- held standing only with the intervention of Caspar. Petra and Dorothea were sitting beside Bernadetta. She was probably the one who, save Edelgard, had been closest to Hubert at all. Ferdinand could not see her face, but he hoped she was okay.

He did not expect to see any more people at Hubert's funeral, but it still seemed a pitiable crowd. Hubert had a strained relationship with his parents. He would not have doubted Edelgard not inform them of his death out of respect for what he would have wanted.

_ Well,  _ Ferdinand thought,  _ if I am to be investigating, I suppose I should begin. _

The people could wait. He walked up to the casket, and got a good look at Hubert.

Perhaps Edelgard made the offer to distract the others because she believed it would look suspicious for Ferdinand von Aegir to spend so much time staring at the face of his infamously despised colleague, Hubert von Vestra. He hoped, at least, that this way of thinking was her reasoning, because if otherwise, it would mean she knew about his little magic trick.

First touch, life. Ferdinand could answer three questions, maybe four, as long as Hubert was as concise and to the point as normal. Second touch, dead again, forever. Three questions, and then he could remorselessly send Hubert back to the afterlife.

Hubert had been an infuriatingly intelligent man in life, so Ferdinand did not expect much resistance.

From a distance behind him, Edelgard's voice cut clearly through the air. "Every one, I would like a word... Will you please meet me in the hallway?"

Glances were exchanged, but the apathetic nature of their circle of friends meant it was only a moment before they shuffled out into the hallway.

Alone with Hubert, Ferdinand returned his attention to the corpse.

That rigid mortician had dressed him in a black turtleneck. While wearing all black was undoubtedly in character for him, the fact that it was merely a sweater and slacks seemed decidedly "dressed-down" for him. Perhaps it was meant to hide a wound of some sort? It would make sense to cover any discoloration or flesh wounds that could not be covered by makeup with clothing choices, instead. It seemed a simple way to make a body presentable.

Careful not to touch Hubert skin-to-skin, Ferdinand pinched the edge of his turtleneck, drawing it downwards. True to his hypothesis, a grisly wound stretched the breath of Hubert's neck. Skin curled at the edges outwards, and laid bare much of the inner workings of the superficial neck.

Ferdinand cringed. Most of the deaths he'd temporarily reversed had held internal causes. This one had him wondering things like  _ What will happen if I touch him in this state?  _ and  _ Will he even be able to speak? _

There had to be a way to tell, he reasoned. Vocal chords were physical aspects of the human anatomy, and therefore if they were left intact by whatever had caused this wound, Hubert should be able to speak without issue.

Ferdinand leaned in for a closer look.

Suddenly, a force hit his shoulder. He tumbled closer to Hubert than he'd ever be comfortable coming of his own volition.

And their lips touched.

More immediate in Ferdinand's mind than the fact that Hubert was now likely alive-again, or the fact that he'd just wasted his kiss on a dead man he hated, was discerning the cause of his little spill. He rose to full height quickly, and swiveled in place. The greying pamphleteer held up his hands in apology.

"I didn't mean to bump into you, there," he said. "These knees aren't what they used to be, and the carpet's a little crooked."

Ferdinand, in his confusion, looked down. He saw that the rug atop the carpeted floor was perfectly flat. He directed a glare at the pamphleteer.

Behind him, Hubert rose out of his coffin, sitting up straight and stiff. Ferdinand watched the gaze of the pamphleteer, and that it was moving at all caused him to swivel back to glare at Hubert.

"Get... Back in there!" Ferdinand struggled to keep his voice lower than a shout. He pounced upon Hubert, uncaring where his hands went. Hubert was already marked for a second death, in his eyes. If he killed him then, it was of little consequence. Ferdinand's secret was more sacred.

But Hubert's gloved hands caught Ferdinand's arms. Carefully, his grip was at the sleeve, and Hubert himself wasn't showing enough skin to easily make contact twice.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a bubbling gurgle came from below his mouth instead, muffled by the cloth of his shirt. His muteness proved the whole thing useless. The most important matter, now, was to get him back in the coffin and back to the other side before the pamphleteer got caught in the proverbial crossfires of Ferdinand's unique curse.

Ferdinand had the strength at least to throw Hubert to the side, back to the corpse's original position. He spared a frantic glance over his left shoulder to see how the pamphleteer was acting.

The pamphleteer was walking to leave the room, back completely turned, as if Ferdinand had not just raised the dead.

He was torn. He had to kill Hubert. He had to stop the pamphleteer from telling the handful of people in the entrance-way that Ferdinand was a wizard. But for the pamphleteer's own good, he had to kill Hubert first.

He returned his attention to the alive-again man just in time to see Hubert von Vestra reaching up to grab the lid of the coffin, and bring it down tightly over himself.

"Hubert!" Ferdinand cried, louder than his last exclamation.

His fingers found the crack of the coffin, digging frenetically in a futile attempt. He pulled up. The lid didn't budge. His only assumption was that Hubert was holding it closed from the inside. He tugged again.

It wasn't just the pamphleteer's life in danger, but all of his friends. They all had bright futures. They could do anything. Ferdinand did not want to agonize over whether or not he could be held responsible, if they were to die here.

"You'll kill someone!" he shouted at the coffin, nearly pleading with the man inside. Such effort was useless. Hubert never listened to him, and especially wouldn't now.

He could only imagine the greed in Hubert's heart. Surely any one with the power would choose to live twice, even at the cost of the life of a pamphleteer, or a crest scholar, or an opera singer, or a

A heavy thud drew Ferdinand's attention away from the coffin. One minute was up. The pamphleteer had collapsed.

Coroners would rule the death a heart attack. Obituaries would cite his age as a contributing factor: 61. He was survived by a wife and daughter, who had both not heard word from him in years. Had he not died, they would not have known he had been alive in that time.

But Ferdinand, now, had another decision to make. Kill Hubert, or figure out a way to smuggle a corpse out of the building. With luck, the death of the pamphleteer would be considered conveniently coincidental, rather than caused. That did not mean he had all the time in the world to play around.

"Hubert," he told the lid of the coffin quietly. "If you can hear me, make a sound."

There was no sound.

"Do not play games with me! We do not have time for this. You are dead. The least we can do, for Edelgard's sake, is give her closure as to why. If you can  _ hear me _ , Hubert,  _ make a sound _ ."

He heard a muffled thud from inside the casket in response.

"Good. You are meant to be cremated. I am going to open the lid. Pretend to be dead and --"

Ferdinand was interrupted by more thuds. Hubert was talking back, even without the ability to speak.

He stumbled on his words, unwilling to say the k-word out loud. "Hubert if you demonstrate that you are alive again to anyone at all present, I will not hesitate to un-alive you again!"

Four more thuds sounded, rhythmically. Ferdinand did not have the time to puzzle out what they meant. Instead, Caspar's voice called out his name and caused him to jump.

"Ferdinand! You okay? That guy over there just  _ died! _ "

"I... am fine, Caspar," he replied. He didn't know how to hide how well acquainted he was with the exact situation that had just unfolded, but hunched over the closed casket didn’t stir Caspar’s suspicion. 

“Did something happen or something? He just kinda keeled over and you look pretty exhausted yourself…” 

There was a pause as Ferdinand searched for words. Instead, Caspar continued with:

“Hey, why is the coffin closed? I thought the whole point was to look at Hubert.”

Ferdinand’s mouth spread into a thin line. Smile or scowl, it could be interpreted as either, but belied how  _ harried  _ he was. “I simply,” he told the coffin more than Caspar, “could not simply stand to stare at Hubert’s unfortunate face. He is incredibly infuriating even in death. I am sure you can agree.”

“Uh…”

“Caspar.” Edelgard’s voice drew both of their attentions away from the other. She placed a hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder. His first thought was that he was wearing a sweater and button down shirt, both of which were layered between his skin and her hand. He flinched regardless.

“Linhardt is calling the proper authorities,” she told Caspar. “We all know these things bother them, so why not check on how they’re doing?”

“Oh yeah. Just wanted to make sure Ferdie was okay, too.” Caspar beamed amiably, playfully punched Ferdinand in the arm, and trotted off.

With a playful slant to her words, Edelgard turned to Ferdinand and asked him, “ _ Is _ Ferdie okay?”

“I believe you heard what I just told Caspar,” he answered. “I do have a question for you.”

“Of course.”

“What will become of Hubert’s body after we all go home?”

Hubert, inside of the coffin, was struck with a flurry of emotions that he had not the skillset to capably sort and manage in the moments that followed. He was alive again, though he had not remembered dying past a searing pain in his throat. His death had been a failure to Edelgard, who he had sworn his life to in the first place, and she must have been terribly upset even if she had no personal feelings tied up in things.

They both knew that to be false.

His first thought upon opening his eyes was to learn the identity of the poor bastard (poor being an operative word in this situation that only began to imply the horrors Hubert intended to visit upon them in service of his vendetta) that killed him. Seeing Ferdinand first had been a rude awakening, but it had also cemented a fact in his mind.

Both he and Edelgard had wondered what sort of strange magic Ferdinand was capable of, and this had confirmed their suspicions. He only had to wonder if Edelgard had organized it as a way of reviving her most faithful servant, but that was not accounting for the fact that Ferdinand seemed ready to kill him back.

His emotions. Vengeful to empathetic mourning to annoyance to satisfaction to frustration at Ferdinand’s vapid antics.

And now, at hearing Edelgard’s voice muffled through wood and cloth, yearning to assure his closest companion that in some sick definition of the word, he was okay.

He listened.

“It’s too late for him to be cremated tonight,” Edelgard said. “So he’ll be kept in a refrigerator downstairs, and the mortician will drive him to the crematorium in the morning.”

“I see. And do you know if the refrigerator can be opened from the inside?”

Ferdinand von Aegir was the biggest idiot Hubert had the displeasure of associating with.

“Well… I suppose I wouldn’t know.” It was clear from her tone that she was unsure how to parse that stupid question without pointing out its disgraceful shape. “I would suspect not. ...Why do you ask?”

The inane response Ferdinand had to supplicate his misstep with was, “Ah… It is… a fear of mine. I asked in impulse. Excuse me.”

It was some sick joke by whatever fate that bound the universe that Ferdinand had his tongue in tact and Hubert was incapable of speaking. He slammed his fist into the inside of the casket, to alert Edelgard that not only was their original hypothesis correct, but that he could hear their conversation.

There were thuds in response. Two of them, quick in pace and annoyed. Edelgard would have just used her voice. What was the point of farcical secrets? Hubert made another three thuds. One, then two in succession.

Then, he and Ferdinand hit the casket at the same time.

“I… see,” Edelgard said eventually. Hubert didn’t know if she received his attempt at messaging her. Ferdinand didn’t know if she knew something was amiss. Thankfully, though, she began to turn, and her next explanation held the certainty of a farewell for now. “Well. We’ll have to deal with that man… I expect this will cut the viewing short. I hope you have… some idea of where to go from here.”

“Don’t worry, Edelgard,” Ferdinand replied with a smile. “We will figure out who did this. I promise.”

“Thank you. And make sure you speak to the others. Dorothea commented that you’re acting a little strange today.”

Ferdinand didn’t have more to say, so he didn’t. Edelgard didn’t have more to say, so she left. He watched her return to the others, who had by now gathered around the door and seemed focused on the unfortunate pamphleteer. Since they weren’t paying attention to him, he felt safe enough to attempt once again to open the casket. Hubert allowed it.

“Listen.” Ferdinand began undoing the wristwatch he typically wore. “Once everyone is gone it should be easy for you to leave on your own. The funeral director is a slight woman. She is old. She should be easy to out run, at the very least.”

Hubert stared. Without his voice, he could do little more than communicate through his eyes, which always gave a menacing glare.

His watch undone, Ferdinand threw it at Hubert’s chest. “I will return at ten, with something to facilitate communication. Until you find an opening, or some shaded alcove you so enjoy to lurk in, act as if you are still dead.”

Hubert’s hand covered the watch, then pulled it out of sight to his side. He didn’t break his gaze with Ferdinand, and Ferdinand did not break it either. For a moment, they glared at each other, and then Hubert shut his eyes.

Hubert acquiesced, at least for now. Ferdinand was satisfied.

Ferdinand turned, straightened his cardigan, and returned to the others. Later that night he would drive to pick up Hubert von Vestra, but for now he had work to do maintaining the facade that there was nothing special about his touches.

He did his best to avoid looking at the pamphleteer. He did his best to avoid thinking of it as blood on his hands.

Edelgard was on the phone, pacing the length of the doors to outside. The others were all loitering around, some talking amongst themselves, others silent.

“Does anyone -” Ferdinand started.

“Does anyone know what happened to Hubert?” Constance interrupted, and finished.

Glances were exchanged. Heads shook ‘no’.

Constance let out one of her trademark “Hmph!”s. 

“Let’s be real, Connie,” Dorothea spoke up. “We all knew Hubie wouldn’t die unless he was killed, and I for one was convinced he was some kind of hard-to-kill vampire. I don’t have any doubt that we’re all just here for Edie’s sake. Aren’t you?”

Constance blushed. “Well of  _ course _ I am! And of course I am worried about what happened to him! Not only could it be repeated to any one of us, but if Edelgard knew who did it, she would have a much,  _ much _ easier time sleeping at night!”

“Well, sure, but it isn’t like there’s any evidence here. This isn’t a crime scene. Frankly, I’m not sure what Edie’s thinking…”

Dorothea sighed. 

“It is odd,” Ferdinand agreed, which made Dorothea’s lip turn upwards in disdain. He still didn’t understand why she didn’t like those rare moments they agreed. “She told me this was not what Hubert wanted, and it is unlike her to not humor any actual opinions he forms on his own.”

“Yes, it’s all very interesting,” Linhardt cut in. “Does that man have any pamphlets left? Maybe he carried a cult Bible. Caspar?”

“Got it, Lin.”

And Caspar shoved the pamphleteer to lie flat on his back. Several pamphlets had fallen and spread underneath him, and Caspar plucked one and saw it to Linhardt’s hands.

“You didn’t check his pockets,” they said with a pout.

“Dude. I’m not looting from a corpse for you. You can do it yourself.”

They hummed and didn’t move. Petra let out a laugh.

“You are being strange again. What is even a cult Bible?”

“He was pushing a religion, Petra,” Dorothea answered. “ _ I’ve _ never heard of it before, so it’s probably new.”

“Is next week an inopportune time to order a monthly delivery of whatever their holy book is to Edelgard’s house?” Linhardt asked.

“Yes!” said Constance, Ferdinand, Dorothea, and Caspar all at once.

“H-how do we think he died?” Bernadetta spoke up.

“Clearly some kind of heart failure, if I had to guess,” Linhardt answered quickly. “Usually something shocking can trigger it. He probably saw Hubert’s face.”

Ferdinand stifled a laugh. Constance elbowed him.

“Yes, we all understand Hubert has a scary face,” she said, loudly. “But there’s no need to speak so poorly of him, and at his own funeral of all places!”

“Let’s keep it down,” Dorothea added. “For Edie, at least.”

For Edelgard. Ferdinand could agree to an extent. He wanted to give her closure, and any threat that could so cleanly dispose of Hubert, of all people, would no doubt prove a threat to her, as well. That was if it didn’t pose a threat to any other.

For Edelgard, Hubert laid very still in his coffin, very quietly, doing his best to keep his chest from moving as he breathed. The air went in his nose, into his lungs, his bloodstream, rejuvenating each cell naturally, and came out the man-made hole in his neck.

He wanted revenge. He wanted to know who killed him. He wanted to return to normal as soon as possible.

Beside him, Ferdinand’s watch meekly ticked away the seconds. Ten pm. Then his investigation would begin.


End file.
